Oh… there were just so many good post titles to choose from. “The Motorcycle Diaries”—too obvious. “Easy Rider”—not quite accurate. “C-o-o-l R-i-d-e-r”—not everyone loves Grease 2 better than Grease the way I do. And so I settled for the above, semi-obscure (at least to non-film majors or persons under the age of 55) reference to motorcycle culture and L’Brando.
So, for those of you who haven’t been paying attention, I took my motorcycle class this weekend. I’ll cut the suspense and reveal that I passed. But it was the doing more than the passing that was important. Here’s a not-so-brief recap:
On Thursday I had the classroom portion. The instructors were good and all, but it was one of the longest 5-hour periods of my life. There were points at which I seriously longed to be back in BarBri, and I hated BarBri, but BarBri did have more spacious seating (at least at the night session), better A/C, and since the instructors were on videotape, you could blatantly pay little to no attention and nobody’s feelings were hurt. I was expecting the motorcycle class would have lots of gory videos of motorcycle crashes and whatnot to keep me alert, but no. Instead, it was 100 students all reading the same dry material about outside-inside-outside curves, the “friction zone,” and 12-second follow distances in order to answer “group” questions. The purpose of this torture session was to prepare us for a written test at the end of the class. The people in my group were verrrry nervous about passing the test, and it reminded me of the time that I went to the downtown DMV to get my motorcycle permit and was the only person in the very long line to pass any of the DMV’s written tests except for a Jamaican guy behind me who, upon being informed of his passing, dropped to his knees, clasped his hands, and said “Thank you, Jesus!” over and over again. It was touching and I felt guilty for spending a measly five minutes scanning the DMV handbook in preparation for a test worthy of public praying. What can I say—I don’t really stress multiple-choice tests that involve more pictures than words, and Thursday’s class was no exception. Confidence in reading and guessing is one of those socioeconomic/educational blessings I have but forget to count. I got 98% right and was out the door while the rest of my group was still taking it.
Needless to say, I was not as confident going into the ten-hour driving portion over the weekend. I knew there would be that one person in the class who was never getting it and always holding everyone else up, and I was seriously afraid that, with absolutely no motorcycle experience and little confidence in my own physical coordination, that one person would be me.
I was also afraid I would die.
Luckily, neither happened. As it turns out, almost all of the people in the class had never driven a motorcycle before or even a scooter and that one person was kind of a three-way tie that didn’t involve me and didn't hold us up that much anyway. We spent the first hour (from 6:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m.—brutal) just learning how to turn the darn things on. And yet by the end of the first day, we were driving them all around, swerving between cones, and shifting up to third gear. By the end of the second day, we were driving over wooden boards (simulated road hazards), pulling quick swerves, and almost successfully turning figure eights within a very small box marked on the pavement (everyone improved on this last exercise, but I didn’t see a single person do it without either going a little out of bounds or putting a foot down).
My classmates were awesome and congenial rather than competitive. It seemed that most of them were taking the class because learning to ride a motorcycle was just something on their lifetime to do list—and I would highly recommend it if the motorcycle thing is on your list as well. It was funny that, on breaks, everyone was just so normal—but with our helmets, boots, and bikes, we were a mean riding team. A mean riding team that only ever makes it to third gear and accidentally honks when they intend to signal left, that is.
Lots of people have asked me if I’m planning on trading the Vespa in for a motorcycle now that I’m such an accomplished biker. While the Kawasaki Eliminator (pictured above) that I was assigned to ride is actually smaller, more comfortable, and cheaper than the Vespa, the answer is a definite “No.” As one of my coworkers once commented about the Vespa, “It’s not a gateway bike, people.”
If you want to take the MSF Basic Rider Course in your area, go here. In California, it gets you out of taking the driving test for the M1 license and most insurance providers will give a discount for taking it as well.
So, for those of you who haven’t been paying attention, I took my motorcycle class this weekend. I’ll cut the suspense and reveal that I passed. But it was the doing more than the passing that was important. Here’s a not-so-brief recap:
On Thursday I had the classroom portion. The instructors were good and all, but it was one of the longest 5-hour periods of my life. There were points at which I seriously longed to be back in BarBri, and I hated BarBri, but BarBri did have more spacious seating (at least at the night session), better A/C, and since the instructors were on videotape, you could blatantly pay little to no attention and nobody’s feelings were hurt. I was expecting the motorcycle class would have lots of gory videos of motorcycle crashes and whatnot to keep me alert, but no. Instead, it was 100 students all reading the same dry material about outside-inside-outside curves, the “friction zone,” and 12-second follow distances in order to answer “group” questions. The purpose of this torture session was to prepare us for a written test at the end of the class. The people in my group were verrrry nervous about passing the test, and it reminded me of the time that I went to the downtown DMV to get my motorcycle permit and was the only person in the very long line to pass any of the DMV’s written tests except for a Jamaican guy behind me who, upon being informed of his passing, dropped to his knees, clasped his hands, and said “Thank you, Jesus!” over and over again. It was touching and I felt guilty for spending a measly five minutes scanning the DMV handbook in preparation for a test worthy of public praying. What can I say—I don’t really stress multiple-choice tests that involve more pictures than words, and Thursday’s class was no exception. Confidence in reading and guessing is one of those socioeconomic/educational blessings I have but forget to count. I got 98% right and was out the door while the rest of my group was still taking it.
Needless to say, I was not as confident going into the ten-hour driving portion over the weekend. I knew there would be that one person in the class who was never getting it and always holding everyone else up, and I was seriously afraid that, with absolutely no motorcycle experience and little confidence in my own physical coordination, that one person would be me.
I was also afraid I would die.
Luckily, neither happened. As it turns out, almost all of the people in the class had never driven a motorcycle before or even a scooter and that one person was kind of a three-way tie that didn’t involve me and didn't hold us up that much anyway. We spent the first hour (from 6:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m.—brutal) just learning how to turn the darn things on. And yet by the end of the first day, we were driving them all around, swerving between cones, and shifting up to third gear. By the end of the second day, we were driving over wooden boards (simulated road hazards), pulling quick swerves, and almost successfully turning figure eights within a very small box marked on the pavement (everyone improved on this last exercise, but I didn’t see a single person do it without either going a little out of bounds or putting a foot down).
My classmates were awesome and congenial rather than competitive. It seemed that most of them were taking the class because learning to ride a motorcycle was just something on their lifetime to do list—and I would highly recommend it if the motorcycle thing is on your list as well. It was funny that, on breaks, everyone was just so normal—but with our helmets, boots, and bikes, we were a mean riding team. A mean riding team that only ever makes it to third gear and accidentally honks when they intend to signal left, that is.
Lots of people have asked me if I’m planning on trading the Vespa in for a motorcycle now that I’m such an accomplished biker. While the Kawasaki Eliminator (pictured above) that I was assigned to ride is actually smaller, more comfortable, and cheaper than the Vespa, the answer is a definite “No.” As one of my coworkers once commented about the Vespa, “It’s not a gateway bike, people.”
If you want to take the MSF Basic Rider Course in your area, go here. In California, it gets you out of taking the driving test for the M1 license and most insurance providers will give a discount for taking it as well.
9 comments:
congrats. when did you get so cool? You should get your commercial license next and truck a little.
You are cool. Seriously... I've always wanted to be like you, and now I want to even more.
Wow. I had no idea it was such a big deal! I think I will forever look at bikers in a new light. This was my favorite visual: "...but with our helmets, boots, and bikes, we were a mean riding team. A mean riding team that only ever makes it to third gear and accidentally honks when they intend to signal left, that is."
So funny! Congrats on the license!
for some reason this post reminds me a little of jury duty. am i alone in this?? congrats ginny!! i'm so proud of you!!
I have to go with "Luckily, I didn't die" as being my personal favorite part of this post.
But I ... along with your legion of fans ... have only one serious question ...
Where are the pictures??
Yay! Congrats Ginny! Mission accomplished! :D
I think On Any Sunday or The Great Escape would have been good titles, but maybe that's just my latent Steve McQueen (unseen and unknown to all but me) showing. Now you have one more (or is that now you have one) thing in common with James Dean. Of course, you may suddenly be strangely drawn to Hollister (how would the Booze Fighters feel about Old Navy coopting Hollister??) or Altamonte or Fontana or Oakland or one of those other made-famous-by-motorcycle-gangs California towns. Hopefully, you'll resist and just tool around West LA on your Vespa with newfound confidence and sense of ownership. You deserve that.
Ginny- As a psychiatrist thinking about buying a Vespa, I suppose it was only a matter of time until I stumbled on your blog. I've enjoyed your comments and advice on Vespa-ing, but I've been swept away by your hilarity. You are, as we say in Maine, wicked funny. Will you come over to my house to play? It will be fun. I have an Atari and I know where mom hides the Oreos.
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